


Parallax

by thecookiemomma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecookiemomma/pseuds/thecookiemomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape's point of view undergoes an immediate, sudden shift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallax

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Birth of a Dancing Star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/677351) by [asecretchord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asecretchord/pseuds/asecretchord). 



Severus Snape had had enough. The child was impertinent, disrespectful, arrogant and ignorant. He would find out exactly which buttons to push, and he would carefully _destroy_ the child, Unbreakable Vow be damned. He sentenced the little blighter to a detention, then when the child entered the room that evening, before he had a moment to even consider the layout or the situation, Severus attacked. He caught the boy's gaze, and invaded. “ _Legillimens!_ ” As the world faded around him, he heard Potter's complaint, and completely disregarded it.

 

When he landed inside the boy's mind, far past all the defenses, he glanced around, confused. The room was nearly pitch black, and he were to believe the shadows coming from the miniscule amount of light shining from underneath the door, the room itself was tiny as well. He stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, and saw shelves. The few rays of light glinted off cylindrical shelving tubes, and seemed to highlight the shapes of containers. Severus could hear the sound of old water pipes, of the creaks and rumbles of a house in use, of the noise of the television and the laughter of a child. None of it reached in here. Here was silence, darkness and isolation. He could smell the scent of cleaners, of sweat, of stale air recycled slowly through a nearly airtight room.

 

At first, Severus was certain that Potter had set up this room just for him. That it was his secret defense, meant to teach the old greasy bat of the dungeons a lesson. But something – something _felt_ off. Something felt real. The scents and sounds were too real to be a mind's version of a sensory deprivation tank. He listened more closely, and another sound assaulted his ears. It was the snuffling of a small child attempting to sleep. He'd been House Master for enough years that he'd gotten used to the sounds of children sleeping, or attempting to. These sounds were more infantile than merely childish, though. He lowered himself down into a squat, and put only a fraction of the normal power into his voice and magic as he intoned a spell. “ _Lumos,_ ” he whispered, and a soft light spread around what was most assuredly a boot cupboard with a tiny, ancient mattress on the floor. When he looked down at the occupant on the mattress, he was appalled. There, laying on the floor with only a tiny blue blanket to cover a body encased in extremely large, worn-out pajamas was the Potter boy, his eyes and nose both running. Though this scene was telling enough, what made it even more informative were the words coming from the small child's mouth. Though he could not have been more than five, if that, the little boy spoke when he saw the light. “Comin' Aunt Petunia. Yes, Aunt Petunia. No, Aunt Petunia. Wash the floors, pour the juice, take out the trash, pick up Dud's toys, ...” The litany continued. This child knew his place, and it was no bright, beautiful palace with cutlery of silver and crockery of crystal. This child was inured to danger, pain, _toil..._

 

He knew that well. He knew the sense of staying out of the way, the feeling that the darkest corners were always the safest because there, the opportunity to be forgotten was more possible. His firm grasp on his balance wobbled, and he slid down the floor against the metal shelving behind him. The petulance and bitterness he'd seen now were no longer the result of arrogance, but of tired, painful practice. Mistreatment and neglect was what he expected. It was not arrogance that led him to act as though he did not appreciate the masses fawning over him; it was ignorance. The child had no idea how to deal with the blast of energy, light and sound his entrance into the world of magic had brought. He recalled in his own thoughts the looks and posture of a child in his class, busily trying his hardest to meet a basic grade when he was uncertain what a quill was, could not find the room without the stairs tripping him, or never knew whether the day would bring fame or infamy. Struggling to stand without disturbing the sleeping creature, Severus finally managed. He turned to face the doorway and stepped out into the light world. He'd seen Petunia Ev – Dursley's house. This was not it.

 

He found himself in a very familiar graveyard. He watched from afar as Peter Pettigrew tied up the young man, worked through the resurrection ritual that brought his Master back to life, and cut Potter's arm in the process. He heard the child's mental litany as he begged the thing to drown in the potion's waters, or to fall on the ground and die before he could return to any form. He felt the excruciating pain the touch of the Dark Lord engendered upon his skin. He felt the strange connection between the two wizards that seemed to be located right in Potter's forehead. Still, with all those factors, the fear, the pain, the revulsion at his appearance and Wormtail's general presence, the boy stood unflinching in the face of pain. He didn't even begin to duck until the old man started throwing curses at him. Then, he struggled, fighting with all he was worth, not for his own sake, but for the sake of those he loved, respected, and even those he was unsure of, such as himself. Severus blinked. He focused his attention again just as the _Priori Incatatem_ effect began, and Voldemort's wand spat out 'ghost' after 'ghost'. His heart caught as his best friend's form – and his worst enemy's – floated out into the air, distracting the boy's opponent long enough for him to let go, run, grab the portkey _and_ Diggory's lifeless body, and be carried away by the swirl of magic.

 

Instead of landing near the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts, the boy and his unwitting passenger landed in the bathroom on the second floor. He watched as the tiny child – for that was what he was at this point – slid down the tube, focused more on rescuing another than on his own life. He felt the shiver of fear as Harry saw the skin of the Basilisk, and the resigned amusement when he realized he'd have to continue on alone because of the incompetence of the asinine professor and a charm cast from a broken wand. He heard the hissing and the understanding of the Parseltongue that it took to open the strong iron door, and watched in dawning horror as the child taunted a shade of the Dark Lord until the older wizard had had enough and called for his 'pet' to end him. He found himself calling out to his enemy's spawn to duck and snorted in disbelief when Fawkes brought the Sorting Hat instead of another helper. When Potter pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from the hat, Severus was only slightly relieved. The Basilisk was huge, and the child had very little training on how to defeat such a creature. However, amazingly enough, and by the very skin of his teeth, the brat managed to defeat not only the snake, but the strange artifact as well. He sighed and willed his mind to leave the strange memories and return to the real world.

 

“What the ruddy hell was that?” Potter was fuming, and Snape couldn't blame him. “You had _no_ right...” He let his words trail off, fully aware that he probably just cost his house the Cup for the year. “ _Clear your mind, he says..._ ” The boy whispered, but Severus heard well enough.

 

“You may go,” Severus flipped a hand toward him and reached out to the shelf near his desk for the Firewhiskey and a glass. When he was certain that the boy had indeed fled his presence, he poured himself a good portion of whiskey, drained it, and filled it again. He looked down into the drink, wondering if the amber liquid had the answer he needed. It did not. The thoughts and memories he'd seen swirled around inside his mind for an extremely long time.


End file.
